A tendril of icy air snaked around her, as though trying to pull her forward. She resisted, latching on to the door frame to steady herself. Goosebumps lifted the hairs on the back of her neck as her gaze darted to the left wall. The lone portrait remained on the wall. But the large wooden cross that had hung above the portraits was now on the floor.
Oh, God. Her vision swam, nausea churning in her belly like curdled milk. Why was this happening? And what was it supposed to mean?
Maybe it’s just something inside the wall causing things to fall, a desperate inner voice insisted. A vibration from the pipes.
She shoved the pleas for rational explanations aside. The timing was just too suspicious. Still clutching the wall, she scanned the nearby bookshelves for clues. If a ghost was trying to tell her something, what was the message?
One of the framed pictures on the shelf caught her attention: an old photo of the town church. The white steeple rose into a cloudless sky, and trees and gravestones surrounded the simple wooden chapel. Her gaze slid from the graveyard in the picture to the Bible shelved beside it, and something in her mind clicked.
John had been the pastor of that parish—a pillar of the community, a religious leader. After losing his wife, and then his mind, he’d taken his own life. Wasn’t that considered a sin in most Christian religions, especially back then? Maybe he hadn’t been buried with the regular service because of that. Sunday school hadn’t exactly been a big part of her childhood, but it sounded plausible. And something like that might prevent a regular person’s spirit from resting in peace, never mind someone who had dedicated their life to God. If John was the ghost, maybe that’s what he needed—forgiveness for committing suicide. A full Christian burial, whatever that entailed.
“Is that it?” she whispered into the study, her voice a hoarse croak. She cleared her throat. “Pastor John can’t rest in peace until he has a proper service?”
Rubbing her palms along her arms, she waited for some kind of response. When nothing happened, she lifted a shoulder. It couldn’t be that easy for a ghost to communicate, right? Otherwise, it would just tell her what the hell it wanted and be done with it. There’d be no need for these games and clues.
She had to have figured it out correctly! The portrait, the cross, even the nightmare that brought her outdoors, calling for help and collapsing to the ground—it all fit. Excitement bubbled through her as she dropped onto her bed and grabbed her cell off the nightstand. She needed to tell Jesse the news. Bouncing her leg, she scrolled through her screen to find his number.
Wait. Jesse had said he had to work today. Maybe she should text him instead of calling…
Her thumbs flew over the keypad for a few seconds before she caught herself. What on earth am I doing? Jesse was not her partner in this. Why was her first reaction to talk to him about this anyway? She needed to be more careful. He wasn’t her friend, he was her neighbor. And her cat’s vet.
She needed to rein in the feelings she was developing for him. Immediately. Whether she could stop her body’s physical reaction to him was another matter, though. God, he was just so hot. The image of his shirtless torso flashed in her mind—hard planes, taut muscles, wide shoulders. Strong arms she wanted to feel wrapped around her…
No. She pushed the thoughts away, ignoring the warmth tingling low in her belly. She couldn’t risk her heart again. Ever. The only person she could trust was herself. The past few weeks had taught her it was best to keep everyone else at a safe distance.
Then again, sex didn’t have to involve emotions. Lots of people had one night stands and never saw the person again. Sex could just be about the physical pleasure. Her memory pulled up Jesse again, his handsome face so close to hers in the soft glow of the porch lights.
She laughed out loud. What was she thinking? What made her imagine for even one hot second Jesse was interested in sleeping with her? That man could have anyone he wanted. He wouldn’t choose the crazy lady next door who slept on his office couch and ran through the woods at night screaming. The woman who literally no one cared about. The friend and fiancé who mattered so little that hurting her—betraying her—was both easy and enjoyable.
Swallowing down the self-pity, she pushed herself off the bed. Her legs felt heavy as she trudged back down the stairs, but she tried to remind herself she now had a theory. She wasn’t exactly sure how to proceed from here, but still…it was something. She searched around for Preston, eventually locating him beneath the couch, where he seemed determined to stay. With a small shake of her head, she folded the blanket on what was apparently her new bed. A twinge traveled through her lower back as she straightened, and she considered heading out back to the porch to do some stretching. Sleeping on the couch might be better for her mentally, but physically, it wasn’t doing her body any favors.
She crossed into the kitchen to check the time, grimacing when she realized she had less than an hour to get ready and get to The Boatyard. With a soft sigh, she closed her baby book and picked it up. Cradling it against her chest, she carried it through the dining room and settled it back into its box. The camera still sat on the table, and her gaze lingered on it for a moment before she turned away and headed for the stairs. There was a storm predicted this evening. Maybe later she would try to capture some shots as it rolled in across the Atlantic.
7
A light tap on the door of his office pulled his attention from the computer screen on his desk. “Come in,” he called as he set his sandwich down beside the keyboard.
Diane peeked in, her pewter hair floating around her head. “You have a visitor.”
His mind jumped to Lark. Was she okay? He’d been thinking of her all morning, debating whether to text her. He’d gone as far as locating her initial call to him and making her a contact in his phone.
“Heather’s out front,” Diane finished, her lips pursing around the statement. The sour note of distaste was now apparent in her tone. Diane was the maternal figure in the office, and she wasn’t a fan of Heather.
The unexpected buoyancy in his chest deflated, leaving only continued concern for Lark mixed with a new thread of tension. He’d gotten little sleep, he was busy, and he wasn’t in the mood to deal with any of Heather’s drama.
“I told her you were having a working lunch, but you know…” She let the unfinished sentence hang in the air, her shoulder lifting in a shrug.
He did know. Heather had never been one to take “no” easily. He thought he’d been pretty clear about the fact that he didn’t see a future for them as a couple, but now he had a feeling she thought he was just playing hard to get. He frowned. If she knew him as well as she thought she did, she’d understand games weren’t his thing.
Sighing, he took a swig from his water bottle. “I do know,” he responded.
“Do you want me to tell her you said to take a hike?” A hopeful glimmer shone in her hazel eyes.
He gave a grim laugh. “No, then she’ll just think it’s coming from you. But thanks.” He pushed his wheeled chair back and stood. “I’ll go see what she wants.”
“She brought food. I tried to get her to just give it to me, but she wasn’t interested in just dropping it off.” Diane’s nose wrinkled.
“It’s fine.”
Diane nodded and opened the door wider for him before she headed back toward the front desk. He pushed a hand through his hair as he followed her.
Heather was at the far end of the desk, tapping away at her phone, a bag and two iced coffees sitting in front of her. She looked up as he approached, a bright smile flashing across her tanned face. She stuck her phone in the back pocket of miniscule jeans shorts and tossed her blonde hair back. “Hey, Jess. Mom made a huge batch of cranberry muffins this morning, and I know how much you love them, so I brought you some.” She gestured perfectly manicured hands toward the white bakery bag with “Clancy’s Market” printed on the front.
Heather’s family had owned Clancy’s for as long as he could remember, and Heather
worked at the upscale market and bakery as well. The prices were high, but the shop drew all the summer tourists, as well as a group of loyal year-round residents. Plus, it was the only place to find groceries in Truro, so Clancy’s benefited from shoppers who needed to pick up a few items and didn’t have time to make a longer trip.
“Thanks.”
She beamed at him again. “Sure. And some fresh iced coffee.” She reached for one of the clear plastic cups and closed her lips around the straw. Glancing out the windows as she sipped, she added, “It’s supposed to storm later, but it’s beautiful out now. Why don’t you take a break? We can go sit outside and enjoy the sun.”
He caught Diane’s frown in his peripheral vision as disapproval rolled off of her like laser beams. He couldn’t help but slide the iced coffee toward him, though. He needed a healthy dose of caffeine, and Clancy’s did make a great cold brew. “I can’t right now, I have a lot of work to catch up on. But tell your mom thanks for the muffins. And the coffee.” He took a quick pull, savoring the smooth, strong flavor.
Her mouth curved into a pout as she exhaled a disappointed sigh. “Okay.” She titled her head, her brown eyes honing in on his. “Hey, did you hear Russell is coming home for the weekend?”
Rubbing the back of his neck, he nodded. Russell Kuhn was another old friend from high school. He’d heard something about his visit the other night at The Boatyard. “I did hear that.”
“Everyone’s getting together at The Boatyard on Friday night. You’re in, right?”
“I should be able to make it,” he hedged. He was planning on it, but he tried to choose his words carefully around Heather these days. If he gave her any leeway, she might try to turn his response into a commitment to her rather than an opportunity to see his buddies.
“Great,” she said enthusiastically, totally dismissing his indecisiveness. “What else have you got going on this weekend?”
He glanced pointedly at the clock on the far wall. “Um…just a lot of work.”
She bounced her chin in a nod, either missing or ignoring his unspoken signals. “I’m having dinner with my parents tomorrow night for their anniversary.”
“Ah. Tell them happy anniversary for me.”
“I will. How’s your mom doing?”
“Good.” He didn’t offer the fact that he was having dinner with her tomorrow night as well. It would be just like Heather to try to combine the family dinners into one big group event. He made a mental note to pick a restaurant the Clancys would be unlikely to choose.
Her eyes narrowed as she finally accepted he wasn’t going to do his part to prolong the conversation. “That’s good.” She plucked sunglass off the top of her head. “Well, I’ll let you get back to it, then. Stop by the store if you need more. Of anything,” she added, tipping her chin toward the bakery bag.
God, he hoped that last phrase didn’t have the double meaning he was hearing. With a curt nod, he stepped back from the desk. “Thanks again.”
“Anytime. See you Friday,” she sang out over her shoulder as she sauntered through the waiting room and out into the sunshine.
8
As forecasted, dark clouds were already gathering on the horizon when Lark returned home from work. She glanced up as she strode toward the house, trying to judge how much time she had. Overhead, the sky remained a pale blue, the afternoon sun still emitting a soft glow that warmed her skin. If she hurried, she could probably get some great pictures of the oncoming storm, and maybe even some shots of lightening over the water, before the predicted rain made its way to the beach.
For some reason, the idea of taking photographs again had her excited. She hadn’t touched her camera in nearly two years, except to store it in that box, but now, using it again almost felt like a compulsion. One that made her slightly giddy. It felt like a positive sign, and she smiled at it as she made her way through the dining room to the kitchen. She wanted to grab a quick snack before she left.
Preston wasn’t sitting on his cat tower, she noted as she passed the slider. Hopefully he had headed upstairs to his bed in the bathroom and wasn’t still under the couch. She had to get rid of this ghost, not just for her own sanity and the sale of the house, but for Preston’s well-being too.
Biting into an apple, she glanced at her notes on the little kitchen table. A frown pulled at her mouth as she noticed a brown stain marring the top of her carefully-drawn family tree. Her coffee mug had tipped over, spilling liquid across some of the names. She took a step closer, her hand holding the apple falling to her side. The blurred names were at the head of the tree: John and Martha.
A shiver scurried up her spine. She’d jumped when the cross upstairs had fallen…she’d moved so quickly, the chair had toppled. But she was almost positive she hadn’t knocked her coffee mug over. Another message? Or just something she hadn’t noticed earlier, in the commotion from the fallen cross and her excitement over her theory?
Her theory. If it was correct, something could be done to possibly end this. She flicked her gaze between the window over the sink and the laptop on the table. It wouldn’t take long to Google a few things.
Twenty minutes later, she was ready to leave the house, after locating Preston in the bathroom, changing into a navy T-shirt dress, and packing a duffle bag with her camera and a raincoat, just in case. The walk to the beach was a good 15 minutes, but she felt like getting the exercise. She wouldn’t melt if she got wet. And the camera would be protected in its case inside the duffle bag. If it was really pouring, she could wrap it in the plastic bags she’d brought along as well.
As she descended the porch steps, she paused, inhaling the clean air touched with the scent of impending rain. She had to admit, if it wasn’t for the haunting, this house—and this town—had its charm. The changing light bathed the surrounding trees in a golden glow and gilded the clouds with radiant halos.
Fishing out her camera, she made a few adjustments, then walked backwards to frame the house through the viewfinder. Her finger hovered over the button for a moment as she drew in a shaky breath. Then she depressed the button, releasing the shutter, a similar feeling of release surging through her with the soft click. There. She’d done it. She was taking photos again.
She walked around the house, capturing images of the woods and the river. Maybe she’d send a few to Madison. While they weren’t as close as they used to be, when they’d worked together at the brokerage firm before Madison left for a different position, Madison had been a true friend during that last difficult week in New York. She’d allowed Lark to sleep on her couch, despite the desperately cramped confines of her tiny apartment. She’d facilitated the use of the borrowed car from a co-worker spending a month in China—a guy Lark had never even met. A pang of gratitude tightened her chest as she packed the camera back up. There were kind people in the world. She would get them both gift cards to thank them, once her financial situation was on steadier ground. And if her pictures came out well, maybe she’d also matte and frame one for each of them.
The walk felt good—walking was something she did so much in the city as part of her regular routine, she’d forgotten she would need to make time for it here. And she’d been learning about the various trails she needed to visit from some of her new coworkers. Many of the wait staff were Eastern European, here for the summer on work visas, and they spent most of their free time touring the local landmarks and scenic sites. She needed to do a better job of that, as long as she was here. She’d take her camera along, too.
She’d seen this part of the Cape Cod National Seashore already, on one of her initial drives around town, but it still took her breath away. In fact, the climb up the hill to reach the steep cliffs guarding the beach below almost literally took her breath away. Yep, she really needed to get back into a cardio routine. At least she’d been keeping up with her yoga practice. It not only kept her muscles strong, it unlocked the cramped knots and eased the constant tension. But she would have to start walking and jogging again soo
n. There was no excuse…she wouldn’t even have to get herself over to Central Park for a long run. This whole town was like one big park.
Once she reached the top of the hill, she spent a few moments taking in the majestic sand dunes, the miles of beach stretching in either direction, and the endless expanse of ocean reaching out to meet the sky on the distant horizon. Despite the oncoming storm, a few tenacious beachgoers still dotted the landscape, but they were few and far between.
She kicked off her flip-flops, shouldered the duffel bag, and took a few photos from her vantage point. Then she made her way down the switchback path cutting through the high, sheer dunes toward the beach.
The sand beneath her feet still held on to the day’s warmth, but the approaching clouds were turning the sky leaden. In the distance, a mass of thunderheads formed a menacing black smudge.
She stopped at a spot midway to the surf and snapped another series of photos. Then she unfurled the blanket she’d stowed in her bag and sat down to watch the changing weather and the strengthening waves. A trio of seagulls stood by the edge of the water, the rising wind buffeting their gray and white feathers. The strands of hair that had escaped her topknot fluttered around her face, and she tucked them back behind her ears.
She felt the vibration beneath the sand seconds before she sensed the rapid movement behind her. She twisted around just in time to see a flash of black and white barreling toward her before the solid weight of a large dog was nearly in her lap.
“Bosco!” a deep voice called. “Come!”
Her muscles relaxed as she realized she knew her unexpected canine visitor. “Hi, boy,” she said, giggling as he whined with excitement and butted his large head into her chest. Rubbing his smooth fur, she searched the beach, her gaze quickly landing on Jesse’s tall form as he made his way down the dunes, Benny at his heels. Her heart did a little flip, and she gave herself a mental kick. Stop.
Ghost Moon (Haunting Romance) Page 6
